


Careful Making Wishes in the Dark

by awritersdaydream



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Angst, F/M, Incest, Rough Sex, Sex, Word Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-09
Updated: 2013-07-09
Packaged: 2017-12-18 04:49:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/875804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awritersdaydream/pseuds/awritersdaydream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dissatisfied after the kingsmoot, Asha tries once more to convince Victarion of her plan. Set right after Victarion's POV in AFFC. Pre-ADWD.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Careful Making Wishes in the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first time I've written for Asha/Victarion and also the first time I've written some smut. I hope you all enjoy!
> 
> Also, I don't own anything, otherwise I would have all scenes with Asha and Victarion.

She walks loudly down the hall.

Though it is late, and most have retired to their beds, Asha Greyjoy is wide-eyed and ready for a fight. Ever since the kingsmoot she has been unable to sleep, with memories of people screaming, “ ** _EURON! EURON FOR KING!_** ” repeating in her head. If there is one thing Asha is certain of, it is that Euron must not take the crown.

She thought everything had been under control when she spoke of peace and victory, but how truly wrong she had been. Euron had bested her, and not only her but Victarion, too. Euron had won the crowd with his promises of war and victory and demolished the hope she had of reigning in support. She fled before the voices of the people died down. She refused to hear anymore.

She is angry, and anger does not sit well with a Greyjoy.

As she tosses and turns in her bed, an idea strikes her. She jumps out of bed, throws on whatever clothes she can find ( _all she has these days are bodices and small clothes and breeches_ ), and sets out to find the person whose help she needs the most.

She stops at the door, smiling at the guards standing in front.

“He’s not expecting anyone,” one says to her, his eyes squinted as if he is staring into the sun.

“I did not know I needed an invitation to visit family,” she retorts, her hands resting on her hips.

Before the guard can say anything more, the door opens and Victarion Greyjoy appears, his clothes light and his hair unfastened. In the shadows, his height seems to grow, and he looms easily over Asha and the guards.

“What is the meaning of this?” he asks, his voice gruff. He looks to the guards and then follows their stares to Asha. “Is something wrong? Are you hurt?”

She shakes her head. “I need to speak with you about something important.”

He pauses briefly, considering what she could possibly need to discuss with him, but then nods to the guards, signaling them to take a lap around and give them space. The guards nod once and take off, the clash of leather and metal echoing throughout the hall.

He leaves the door open for her and she walks in quickly, bolting it behind her. She sees a dim candle glowing on a desk in the corner, with papers strewn about on top. _He was aw_ _ake_ , she thinks, _and restless in sleep, the same as me_. It is strange to see him in bed clothes instead of his traditional Greyjoy garb, and Asha cannot help but stare at the thin, almost transparent linen shirt draped over his body.

He sits at the desk, his back turned from her face and his hand writing something she cannot see. “Now, what is so important that you had to walk through the night to tell me?”

“Who are you writing?” Her curiosity gets the best of her, and she peers over his shoulder.

Without turning, he says, “I’m sending news of the kingsmoot to some of my crew overseas.” She watches the way his back muscles push and pull with every flick of his pen. “You still have not answered my question.”

Her eyes travel up towards the back of his head. “That’s precisely what I wanted to discuss. Euron gains supporters every minute because of his talk at the kingsmoot. Meanwhile, you and I are outnumbered and pushed to the side. Something must change.”

Victarion sighs and puts down his pen. He turns his chair around to face her, his expression exhausted. “You cannot possibly still believe you could rule?”

“Not just me.”

“Who then?”

“You and I,” she says seriously, her face as resolute as a stone.

He runs a hand through his hair, trying to distill his temper. Asha knows that look, had seen it when she was a young girl, and almost grins at his struggle for restraint.

“Asha, you must abandon your early notions. A king of the sea does not need a Hand, much less one who is a woman. It can never be.”

Asha opens her mouth to speak, but stops when an idea enters her mind. “What if we ruled differently then?”

His expression changes from exasperated to confused, and she uses the small moment of stunned silence to walk over to his chair and slide slowly onto his lap.

“I mean,” she whispers, her cheek grazing his, “side by side.” She nips his ear gently, tightening her legs around his waist. She feels his already half-hard cock through his loose breeches, and is surprised at how quickly from him she drew a reaction.

Suddenly, he throws her off his lap and she races to steady herself, her feet fumbling for stable ground.

“Have you gone mad?” He asks, his face displaying disgust he does not feel. “We are blood.”

She plants her feet on the floor and looks at him, amused. “It is not unusual. The Targaryans took care of that and if word is true, the Lannisters did, too.”

“We are not dragons or lions. We are krakens, and krakens of the same family do not share seed.”

She steps closer to him. “Think of all we could do together, Nuncle.” The words cause him to flinch, and she finds herself enjoying his response. She leans into him and presses her hand to his chest. She gazes up at him and breathes softly against his neck. She can feel his heartbeat quicken, and the heat radiating from his clothes. The thought of his discomfort makes her head swim with lust. “All the people want are good leaders, and who better to give them that then us?”

He shoves her roughly, but the action only increases her want. “I said no. It is settled.”

“You are all I have left,” she tells him, and sadly it is the truth. Her father is dead, Theon is a disappointment, and Euron would like nothing more than to see her corpse floating in water. If she is to unite with any person in her family, it is him.

The words have some effect on Victarion. He does not say anything, but holds her stare, his eyes intense and sorrowful. She steps forward again, wasting no time in gripping his arms and pressing herself against his chest. She looks up at him, her expression sincere and immodest. She runs her hands along his chest, stopping just above his breeches. She wants this, but refuses to beg. “I’ve wanted this for years, Nuncle.”

Without warning, Victarion smashes his lips against hers, crushing her body against his in a grip so tight Asha has to fight for breath. She can feel his stubble against her lips and cheek, his arms wrapped around her waist and back. It is tight, _oh so tight_ , and she can already anticipate the soreness that is bound to envelope her the next morning.

He breaks apart from her abruptly, the force sending her back a few steps. She waits for him to decide what he wants, and it does not take long. He charges towards her, picking her up by the waist with one arm and gripping her thigh with the other. Desire boils within her belly and she shivers.

He kisses her roughly, and she almost moans at the feel of his rough beard against her face. She was not being facetious when she told him she had wanted this for years. She remembers watching him, so tall and strong and brave, and promising herself that she would one day become his equal. She admired him, and continued to admire him until they came face to face hours ago.

But her admiration is over; it is time for compromise.

She grinds against him, her thighs meeting leather and she can’t help the laughter bubbling in her throat. This is nothing compared to her encounters with boys from her childhood, with Qarl. This is raw, and this is real, and with every small inch of friction her own breeches start to dampen. He tears her bodice without much effort, and grasps her left breast firmly. He rolls his thumb over her pink nipple roughly, and she throws her head back in delight. He hikes her up again, the shift in movement eliciting a groan from her lips. She feels the hard wall behind her, the uneven rocks scraping against her back and all she can do is smile. He grips her other breast, much harsher than the other, and pinches her nipple instead. She gasps loudly and buries her head in his neck.

Breathing heavily, her hand travels down to his breeches, where she can feel his cock straining against the fabric.

She feels his size through the loose material and realizes they are wrong. They are all wrong. He _is_ big where it matters, and Asha’s body aches with anticipation. She bites her lip, the urge to say something, toy with him in some other way coming at her full force. But words can do more damage than good. And if she says anything now, she is afraid he will wither and run.

She pulls on his breeches, freeing his now fully hard cock. She strokes it a few times, and watches his face.

_She always watches his face._

Victarion has always been a storm, only the clouds are sometimes farther away.

He moves his hand from her breast onto her own breeches that are waiting to be ripped open. Her whole body is trembling, his one hand on her bare back holding her in place, and the other dragging the baggy fabric down her legs. She groans and he buries his face in her neck, his stubble scratching her cheeks and leaving angry red marks. She throws her head back against the wall in desperation. He is so close, _so close_ , and she has waited for so long.

As soon as her breeches are discarded onto the floor, he uses both of his hands to grip her thighs and hoist her up higher on the wall. The rocks rub against her back, but the pain is dulled by her want. In one fell swoop he slides into her, and she screams loud enough for the guards to hear. Victarion moves his hand from her thigh and onto her mouth, silencing her moans. He thrusts into her roughly, his own groans gaining volume.

Although she has imagined this moment countless times, she realizes she could have never imagined this.

Asha feels as if she is flying, her body being lifted up into the air, numb to anything but the feeling of fullness emanating from his cock being inside her. She grips his shoulders tightly, feeling her own desire build, and bites down on his shoulder. He grunts in surprise, but Asha knows he barely felt the sting.

He pushes her against the wall with much more passion and force than before. Victarion moves his hand from her mouth and grabs her wrists, pinning them above her head and against the wall. She feels helpless against him, his power overwhelming her senses. She allows him to control her, not because he is her nuncle, but because he is Victarion Greyjoy, brute of the sea. But this power shift wakes something within her, and soon her hips are moving to their own speed, and she is pressing her lips against his in a lock so tight that both fight for air.

His own desire is building, and the more they rock together, rising higher and higher to their peak, Asha sees how well they would rule side by side. His strength combined with her rationality would provide the kingdoms with the stability they crave.

Asha comes with visions of a peaceful kingdom in mind, and Victarion standing beside her.

With a few more thrusts, Victarion cries into her hair, his warm breath tickling her neck and sending chills down her body. He slowly lowers her to the floor, his head still between her cheeks and shoulder blade. He stays like this for a few moments before he disentangles himself from her. She almost whines at the loss of contact, but swallows it down.

She doesn’t wait for him to say anything; she doesn’t want to hear him say it was a mistake.

Instead, she gathers her breeches that are strewn across the floor, her shoes, and finally her bodice. She combs through her already messy tendrils and walks back over to Victarion. He is leaning against his large bed, his breathing finally returning to normal. He refuses to look at her, and she assumes the guilt is washing over him in waves.

She slides her hands on top of his shoulders and attempts to catch his eye. He keeps them focused on the floor. Her hands slide back down his chest and she can feel his muscles tighten, his body ready for more.

She grins, despite herself, and turns for the door.

“Make haste with your decision, Nuncle,” Asha says, knowing the words will cut him. “The world waits for no one, and the people long for a new world.”

She leaves his room and slips back into her own bed. She falls asleep with a satisfied smile on her face and dreams of her and Victarion fighting on the same fleet, side by side.

When she awakes and hears no news from him, she gathers her belongings and stocks her ships. She does not dwell on his decision to reject her offer; she only feels the scratches he left on her neck and back.

She gathers her crew and takes one last look at the hallway that leads to her Nuncle’s chambers.

“We could have had the world,” she whispers to the air, and then retreats from the salty building and onto her sturdy ship.

As she said, the world waits for no one, and the people grow more confused with each passing day. _I will give the people a strong leader they can depend on, and I will create for them a new world,_ she vows.

With, or without Victarion’s help.

 


End file.
